


a stopped clock is still right twice a day

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apology on the tip of his tongue until Novak rests his head on Andy's shoulder, and it's forgotten as Novak's lips press against his shirt and for fleeting seconds there's searing heat slipping down his side.</p><p> </p><p>New Years Day, Perth style. Originally posted in January 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a stopped clock is still right twice a day

The Perth night is warm, like London in the summer but without the sticky humidity that comes with it, the soft breeze ruffling his shirt. The night is far from over but this side of the river it's quiet, the kind of new year Andy enjoys rather than the player's party he'd been dragged to, Laura telling him it'd be fun and promptly abandoning him in favour of the free bar even though she isn't legal. He'd watched from the sidelines, the other players getting as drunk as their coaches would allow, Novak the ever-present life of the party, and Laura kissing a guy at midnight that Andy's sure she didn't even know.

Novak's definitely on the wrong side of drunk, arm looped around his shoulders as they stagger around the empty golf course, breath warm against his neck. He's got a champagne bottle in his hand, one he'd refused to let go of when Ana had all but dumped Novak into his lap, laughing as she'd told him that someone else can deal with Novak for a while. Andy doesn't blame her, four years ago he'd heard about the karaoke, tonight was no different, Novak jumping on stage and singing and trying to play the guitar, and when he'd been kicked off he'd showed off his terrible moves on the dance floor. It's something Andy would never do, more content to stand with his one beer in the corner, chatting to whoever wanted to no matter how many times he was asked who he was. Loves the anonymity here that he doesn't get at home, and it's the only reason he'd agreed when Novak had all but pulled him out of the party, bright grin on his face that can charm anyone.

Staggering around London with a drunk Novak Djokovic would be splashed across the front pages of the papers in Britain within hours; in Australia, in _Perth_ , no one cares. Novak's a warm weight at his side, heavy where he's leaning on Andy for support, broken English slipping in between nonsense Serbian as he babbles into Andy's ear. His arm is wrapped around Novak's waist to keep him upright, fingers brushing over Novak's waist where he's half untucked his shirt, jacket discarded long before they made it out here.

This reminds him of the days when they were in juniors; to the chagrin of his mum they'd always been together back then, their free time spent walking around cities that didn't yet feel like home. It had been long before they'd become big names, before anyone in England had known who Andrew Murray was, when he could still spend time with Novak without having to wonder where the photographs will end up.

And this - this is something he doesn't want to end up _anywhere_ , not with Novak snuggled against him like they're in a relationship (which they are definitely _not_ ) and he's dragging his boyfriend home after a hard night. Thankfully the golf course is silent and dark, the only sound is Novak and their feet against the pavement.

"What is time," Novak slurs against his neck. Andy starts to dig around in his trouser pocket for his phone, feeling Novak shiver against him as he brushes his hand over his hip. Apology on the tip of his tongue until Novak rests his head on Andy's shoulder, and it's forgotten as Novak's lips press against his shirt and for fleeting seconds there's searing heat slipping down his side. When Novak pulls away, giggling like he'd never just kissed Andy's chest through thin cotton, the mark is still tingling.

"One fifty-eight," he saying, hoping his voice doesn't shake on the words and drags his mind back to something safer than Novak's lips against his skin. Wonders why the time matters, neither of them have anywhere they need to be tomorrow other than a practice court unless Novak has a secret life that no-one knows about, but he shelves the thought for a later conversation, perhaps when Novak's not as drunk. Perhaps when he isn't smiling at Andy like a kid at Christmas and Andy's the shiny new bike he's been after for months.

"Happy new year," Novak says, eyes bright and wanting and _serious_ ; Andy gulps, he knows what Novak wants and it's him, though it could just be the champagne Novak's been drinking all night.

"You're drunk, Nole," he starts, brushing a hand over Novak's arm, pulling away for seconds until Novak's leaning back into him. "The new year started two hours ago."

"Is always new year somewhere," Novak says, suddenly sounding sober; Andy's about to point out that no, it's actually _not_ when soft lips brush over his own. Knew it was coming but still too stunned to respond and before he can move Novak pulls away so they're not kissing anymore, panic written all over his face and Andy wants to reach out, tell him that it's fine, he's just shocked but he can't form words. His brain is still focussed on Novak kissing him, because he's a guy and he's _Novak_ , and they're _friends_ and friends don't do this. Novak hadn't even kissed Ana at midnight, just drunkenly smiled at Andy from across the room as he'd they'd hugged.

"Novak-" he starts, hand curled around Novak's bare forearm, light breeze brushing over them and if he was pushed he'd swear that the slight shiver was to do with that, rather than Novak scraping fingers across his stomach, seemingly unaware he's still clinging to Andy like a limpet. "Look, you're drunk, and-"

"Sorry, Andy, I- is sorry," Novak interrupts, words slurring together and half mumbled against Andy's neck, "I think, you and me, Ana say, and you look..."

Doesn't have a clue what point Novak's trying to get to, because he's not making sense. Whatever he's trying to say it's something that's better left for the next morning, when Novak hasn't consumed his weight in champagne over the last five hours, and he's less jetlagged and had a good night's sleep. Going to point it out, take Novak back to the hotel until rough fingers press at his neck, sliding into the _v_ at the top of his shirt where he's undone the buttons. Novak's right there, looking at him expectantly, like he's meant to make a decision _now_ and not when they're both clear headed and they could have a conversation like normal adults.

"Say no and I stop," Novak says softly, breaking into the silence of the night with each carefully thought out word rolling off his tongue, "but maybe is... can be new year every day, da?"

Words take a moment to register. They sink in, realising what Novak's offering him; it's what he wants but he's terrified of this and always has been. Not just because Novak's _Novak_ , but because they're sort-of-famous, and they're tennis players and at some point he'll have to face Novak from across a net and all he'll be thinking about is this moment in the almost-dark in Perth. And Kim, who took him back even though he spends more time with his Playstation at this point because she can't travel with him, and his mum, and he'd have to tell Jamie and his Alex and Dani, and-

And then there's Novak. Asking Andy to make a choice. Novak might be drunk, but his English is good enough right now for Andy to know that Novak's serious, and not drunk enough that he might regret this in the morning. He'd once teased Andy about not really being Scottish, because _there is song, yes, Scotland the Brave?_ , and Novak had pointed out the ways that Andy wasn't anything like his national anthem until he'd punched Novak, yelled at him before he'd burst into tears.

He could shy away from this. Could keep dating Kim until they get married in some quiet ceremony in a sleepy English town where he looks stupid wearing a kilt, and pose for the press as they take photo after photo, his beautiful new bride on his arm. Could run from everything Novak's offering, could put the thoughts back under lock and key where they've been quiet for years.

There was a time where he'd have pushed Novak away without a second thought, walked off in the other direction and left Novak alone and drunk. Maybe he would have done the same in June, Novak buying him drink after drink after the loss at Wimbledon, and maybe the warm understanding from across the table hadn't been quite as innocent as he'd thought. Maybe Novak had wanted _this_ , he just hadn't been quite drunk enough to ruin a friendship that was repairing itself week by week.

"I understand," and the words come as a hard blow, interrupting his train of thought. Novak looks crestfallen and clearly thinks Andy is going to say no; he's never been good at hiding his emotions but he's worse when he's drunk. There's a wobbly step from the Serb, untangling himself from Andy as he takes a drink from the bottle still clutched in his hand, champagne sliding down his chin and onto his shirt.

"No, Novak, look, I-" he starts, fingers gripping the edges of Novak's belt, pulling him backwards and with a stumble Novak lands in his arms. There aren't words to say what he wants, treacherous tongue on the verge of really telling Novak _no_ , and kisses him. Just a brush of lips until Novak's grabbing at his shirt, scrambling to get a grip as he leans into Andy; he tastes of champagne and that horrible Serbian drink Novak had made him try when they were younger. It doesn't taste any better when it's on Novak, and he scrunches his face up in distaste. Novak laughs and kisses his chin.

"Was not meant to chin," he says, grinning, "think am drunk."

"Yeah, you are," Andy replies, kissing the tip of Novak's nose as he pulls Novak flush against him. Almost the same position from earlier except when Novak accidently kisses the top of his neck he doesn't pull away, and his fingers brush over Novak's hip without a second thought.

There are still nagging thoughts about someone seeing them, quietly murmurs a warning _Novak_ to the Serb as he grins against Andy's shoulder. It doesn't stop him running a hand across Andy's back, curling fingers in his shirt and god, he hopes no one sees this. It'd kill his career, Novak's too, except where Novak would show off for the press, Andy would shy away and hide. Too much like that party, or that argument in the locker room he remembers word for word; they don't fit until they _do_ , their personalities balancing out more often than they don't. Considers that for a moment because maybe it's Novak who softens those harsh edges he too often shows to the press. Maybe it's Novak who makes him braver than he really is.

And just maybe, 2011 is the time for something new.


End file.
